


Forsythe Scissorhands

by theheavycrown



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because Jughead is sads sometimes, F/M, I may like angst but I like my angst to end happy, Self-deprecating Jughead to the surprise of no one, So this is my adaptation of Edward Scissorhands a la Bughead, edward scissorhands AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheavycrown/pseuds/theheavycrown
Summary: Forsythe Scissorhands is sure he destroys everything he touches.Touching Betty Cooper is what he wants most in the world… and she’s the one thing he can’t bear to destroy.





	Forsythe Scissorhands

**Author's Note:**

> For Camp Riverdale // Theme Four: Horror
> 
> A thousand thank yous to [bettysnooper](https://bettysnooper.tumblr.com) for being an incredibly patient and detailed beta reader, [thenurseholliday](https://thenurseholliday.tumblr.com) for helping me figure out what to even write for an Edward Scissorhands AU, and, because I’m beyond lucky to have extra assistance (I need it), [lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com), and [pennyroads](https://pennyroads.tumblr.com) for their additional beta help. They are diamonds in the rough.

The man in the moon stared down at him, mindlessly smiling through the smudged window. His only companion. He had always been alone, for as long as he could remember, but he had never felt the harsh bite of loneliness. Could one truly feel empty when they had never been full? Does a man truly need a companion when he has found the comfort of solitude?

Every answer he had ever found changed when Betty Cooper walked through his door. 

Before Betty, this room, this  _ house _ , had never felt as empty as it did now.

She turned his grayscale world to color.

He had never known such beauty. The crisp greens of the hedge-filled garden. The balmy yellows of the fearless butterflies. The soaring blues of the endless sky. And the love in the reds of her cheeks, of her lips.

Love. Love was color. Love was Betty.

“Forsythe?”

Startled, he turned from the window. The silence screamed so loud that he hadn’t heard her footsteps. Of course Betty couldn’t be stopped by the lock of a door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She took a step closer, her eyes imploring. “Are you alright?”

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to look away and close his eyes. It didn’t matter. The green hue of her irises was imprinted in his mind, more vibrant than the lush flora from the rarest seed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Forsythe, it was just an accident. I know you would never mean to hurt anyone  — to hurt me.”

He hadn’t meant to hurt Archie, but as they say, the best laid plans often go awry. He had laid his new friend open in the blink of an eye, left him clutching his arm with eyes full of betrayal. Red. Blood was the worst kind of red, a deceitful traitor. It brought the warmth he loved to Betty’s features, but then, it ripped away his hope with drips of blood down his razor-sharp fingers. 

His own hands —  _ hands _ , to call them that would be a real mockery of the word if ever there was one. 

No. Not hands.

They didn’t deserve that title. His  _ appendages _ were an obscene, perversion of human limbs. He didn’t remember how, or why, he came to be as he was, but ten fingers of scissors and blade were all he knew. Before Archie, it had always been his own blood that coated their cold edges. The next time it could be Betty’s.

Betty. Betty. Betty. The splash of paint on his stark canvas.

“It could have been you.”

“It won’t. I know it won’t.”

Another step, close enough that he could feel the orange glow of her warmth through the thick covering on his skin. “I destroy everything I touch.” His voice sounded as desolate as his aching heart. He couldn’t resist the plea the worthless organ made, and he peered through his eyelashes at her beautiful face.

“No,” she insisted. Her expression turned to fierce, determined steel as her fists curled at her sides. “You’ve created so much beauty around you! The garden, the ice. One mistake doesn’t make a man.”

“I’m not a man, Betty, I’m a monster!”

“You’re no monster. You’re mine! And I’m yours.” Taking the final steps forward, she reached him, turning her face up to his. “Forsythe, I’m yours.”

“Betty…” his voice cracked with emotion. Her breath on his cheek felt as sweet as any caress.

Reaching out, she rested a hand over his chest. “Hold me.”

Those two simple words broke through his soul like an earthquake. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. He wished he had hands as soft and warm as hers. He wished he had palms that could mold to the curve of her waist. He wished he had fingers that could card through the golden strands of her hair. 

If wishes were pennies, he would be a rich man.

No matter how badly he wanted to give her everything, this was one of many things he could never deliver. His jaw flexed with the effort, but he forced himself to meet her eyes as he denied her, shattering the last pieces of his broken heart. “I can’t.”

“Forsythe...” Her eyes filled with pain, turning glassy like his own, as her bottom lip trembled. 

A single tear trailed down his cheek. Of every scar that covered his cursed face, he knew the invisible scar that damned tear left would be the one he felt the most. 

He wasn’t worth her pain. Every small tremble of that wine red lip added a fresh cut to his skin. Betty Cooper was nothing short of divine, an amalgamation of Aphrodite and Athena, the embodiment of love and wisdom taken flesh. And he was a blight, a no one, born in the darkness, a stain to her presence. He was, after all, causing her pain even now. If she felt merely a fraction of the pounding agony that was ripping through his being, he had wounded her without even touching her skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You know I—”

Shaking her head, Betty let out a strangled whimper. “No. Not like this.” She carefully lifted each of his arms around her before wrapping her own around his middle, nuzzling her cheek in his chest. 

He let out a sharp gasp, freezing. He had never been held before. Every part of him, from his ruined heart to his torn skin, felt like it was stitching back together in an arduous sweep. 

Pain had never felt so good. 

“I love you, Forsythe.” She swept a kiss across the bare curve of his jaw, tucking her face into his throat.

Moments passed like lifetimes as he slowly, carefully, rested the weight of his arms around her, brushing his lips against the side of her head. “I’ve never known love until you,” he whispered, relishing the feel of the delicate brush of her hair on his skin.

When Betty Cooper walked through his door, she brought color to his world. And when she loved him, she brought color to his heart and soothed his battered soul.

**Author's Note:**

> This is _very_ different from anything I've written previously. I'm definitely feeling rather insecure about giving angst a try for the first time. SO, if you would be so kind, let me know what you think in the comments?
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr! | [theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com) | The post and graphic for this fic can be found [here](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com/post/186198322676/forsythe-scissorhands-is-sure-he-destroys).


End file.
